


Cauterize

by InnerMuse



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dragon Age Quest: In Your Heart Shall Burn, Gen, destruction of haven
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-29 15:11:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5132204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InnerMuse/pseuds/InnerMuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kestra Cadash had never believed that there were actually good people in the world. People did good deeds sometimes, sure, but they always wanted something in return. Then she joined the Inquisition (or got shoved into it, anyway). To her amazement, she's now surrounded people who seem really, truly, genuinely good. She finds she rather likes it.</p>
<p>The events of In Your Heart Shall Burn, starting with the party that Corypheus crashes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Cauterize: roughly, to cleanse rot (as from a wound) with fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's like, one line hinting at future F!Cadash/Blackwall.
> 
> See the end notes for an explanation of why the badly cooked nug is so significant (trigger warning: child abuse, for the end note only, not the story itself).

The campfires twinkled over Haven, rivaling the stars overhead. The stars that she could actually see, finally, now that there wasn't a massive rift messing everything up and shitting out demons. It was incredibly satisfying, being able to look at the sky without feeling like she was staring up the Fade's putrid green asshole. Kestra took a swig from her tankard and brought her gaze back to earth, where the party was in full swing. _Her_ party. She still wasn't sure how she felt about that.

She was saved from further sappy introspection by a familiar voice drawling, "Herald," from beside her. Seggrit leered at her, his own tankard clutched in both hands. Kestra snorted, half amused, half exasperated.

"Sod off, Seggrit," she said without malice, "I'm enjoying the celebration."

He tipped her an exaggerated toast. "You sure you don't want to go celebrate some more in my quarters?"

"While you're drunker than a nug in a brewery vat? I do have _some_ taste. If you're that desperate, go fondle a pile of gold or something and jerk off. I'm staying here and watching the party." She took another drink and glared pointedly.

"Ah well, worth a try," he shrugged, and staggered off. Kestra chuckled, sipping her beer. It was _good_ – they'd really let loose tonight. She wasn't surprised that the merchant had overindulged a little. She'd be tempted to do the same, but a lifetime of looking over her shoulder for trouble was hard to shake off. Get drunk and pass out in the corner in the Carta, and you may as well paste a sign on your forehead saying _Rob me_. You'd be lucky if you didn't end up stabbed to boot.

But she wasn't in the Carta anymore, was she. That was a stupid thought, of course — you didn't just _leave_ the Carta, she'd even gone after some of those who'd tried — but... Now that the Breach was closed, could she really go back to that life? Running lyrium shipments through the wilderness, sticking arrows in anyone who looked funny at their "supply wagons"; extorting protection money at knifepoint from people who couldn't really afford it; hunting down the poor sods who thought they could outrun the Carta's reach... Sure, she'd been good at it, and reaped the benefits of that prowess, but it was all so petty. So... small. The Inquisition was bigger than that. Better. She hadn't thought that there were actually genuinely good people in the world before she'd met some here — Leliana, Josephine, Sera. Blackwall. Kestra was under no delusions that she could put herself on that list, but... People were toasting her name down there tonight. The thought put a strange warmth in her chest. She wanted to blame it all on the alcohol, but deep down, she knew that wasn't true. It felt... It felt nice.

Damn it. She really was hopeless tonight.

A cheer went up from somewhere in the crowd. Kestra craned her neck to see the cause, grateful for the distraction. A group of tipsy mages moved out of the way, revealing a trestle table littered with empty tankards. Warden Blackwall and the Iron Bull sat across from one another, chugging merrily, while the Chargers' second in command — Krem, that was it — stood by with arms folded. As she watched, the pair slammed their cups down in tandem, accompanied by the whooping of the crowd. Kestra grinned as Blackwall threw his head back and laughed, clapping the Qunari on the shoulder. The press of people shifted again, blocking the pair from view as Krem refilled their tankards. Kestra took a long pull from her own drink, draining it. This time, it was definitely the alcohol that was responsible for that weird warm feeling. She was sure of it. She hopped down from her perch to get another beer.

A little while later, she pushed through the crowd with a full mug in one hand and a plate of food in the other. She hadn't quite gotten back to her ledge in front of the chantry when someone spotted her and raised a shout. The cry of "Herald!" from many lips made her roll her eyes. It was all bullshit, obviously, but after the Breach, people were more determined than ever to make her out as some sort of savior. And she couldn't deny the heady rush of pride when she raised her tankard and drew forth a roar of approval. Someone slapped her on the back, nearly spilling her drink. Finally, Kestra made it back to her seat overlooking the town and plopped down to eat. Smirking, she shook her head, chewing a mouthful of roasted boar. They may all be idiots, but they threw a damn good party.

A giggle and a crunch of snow behind her announced the arrival of possible trouble. Kestra turned, raising an eyebrow as something was dropped on her plate. She recognized the small boy beside her. He was about as tall as her shoulder, even sitting down, with tousled mop of dark hair, and a grin that seemed too big for his thin face. Matthew, maybe, or Martin. Some stupid human name with an M, anyway. He was hopping from foot to foot and staring expectantly. Kestra eyed her plate, inspecting his offering. He'd given her a hunk of badly-cooked meat, clearly not taken from the succulent roasts they were serving below. The pink slab was charred on one side and raw on the other, speckled with a bizarre assortment of spices, but she would recognize roasted nug in any form.

It looked awful. She took a bite anyway.

"This is gross, kid," she said, and grinned at him. "Thanks."

M-something clapped his hands and giggled. Kestra tipped him a wink. To her shock, the little squirt responded by throwing spindly arms around her waist. She froze for a moment, then patted him awkwardly on the head. When he let go, she flipped him off, still smiling fondly.

"That's for making me get all sentimental. Now go grab some real food, kid."

The lad scampered off towards the cooking fires, and Kestra turned back to the scene of revelry before her. Tonight was definitely a good night. Perhaps the best she'd ever had. She sighed contentedly. She thought she'd remember this for the rest of her life.

The celebration only seemed to be growing as time went on. It did seem a little weird that anyone would go light a fire outside the walls when all the good stuff was here inside, but—

The shrill blast of a horn cut through the noise of the crowd. Kestra raised her eyes to the mountainside, icy dread creeping down her spine and snuffing out the comfortable warmth. The spots of light extended all the way to the pass. Those were no campfires.

_Shit._

They were under attack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I started playing Kestra, I would compulsively shoot any nug I saw. It started for game mechanics reasons - I needed the leather for patterns - but it developed into a backstory reason. When she was young, her clan boss put her on nug extermination duty: she had to keep them from inhabiting their supply caches and chewing on the supplies. If the boss saw a nug, she'd get a beating and miss a meal or two. So naturally, she can't stand the sight of nugs and feels the need to kill them. But, she also has a taste for roasted nug, since she would cook and eat the ones she caught. On a bad day, it might be all she got to eat.
> 
> Fast forward to the Inquisition. She's made super fancy nugskin jackets for everyone, and now has all this extra nug meat. Too much for one small dwarf to eat alone. Now Kestra isn't exactly the soul of charity, but she does hate the idea of some poor refugee kid having to turn to crime, like she did as a casteless surfacer. So, what does she do with all that spare meat? She steals the good spices from the tavern and holds a cookout for hungry children. Seasoned nug for everyone!


	2. Chapter 2

Shit, shit, _shit_.

The litany of curses ran through Kestra's mind. She'd been complacent. If her clan boss could see her now – caught pants-down by a whole sodding _army_ showing up at her doorstep – she'd be in for the flogging of her life. She called herself at least three kinds of idiot as she grabbed her bow from a nearby crate. She'd lost sight of the most important rules of Carta life, the ones that had been drilled into her since practically before she could talk: no plan goes off without a hitch. Everything has a catch. Always watch your back.

She dropped into a roll as she pelted towards the gates, deftly slipping a palm into her boot to check the knife hidden there. Never lose track of your weapon – _that_ rule, at least, she'd remembered. For once, her small stature was a blessing, letting her slip easily through the crowds of panicked revelers. People were screaming, trampling each other in a mad rush for the relative safety of the Chantry. Kestra growled through gritted teeth as she neared the gates. When she found the sodding bastard responsible for this, she would break his fucking kneecaps. The Commander was just ahead, bellowing orders; she dodged around a sobbing child — she wouldn't stop with that shitstain's kneecaps, she'd peel off his fingernails, too — and skidded to a halt.

"What's the situation?"

"One watchguard reporting. It's a massive force, the bulk over the mountain," the Commander reported grimly.

"What? There are more?!" She was no tactician. She could clear out a nest of bandits without breaking a sweat, but against an army? She was clueless. Josephine, standing anxiously at Cullen's side, looked queasy.

"Under what banner?" The ambassador demanded. Kestra stopped paying attention, focus snapping instead to the sounds of a scuffle just outside. She nocked an arrow as a guard cracked open the heavy gates. A brute in stupidly spiky armor was advancing towards them – her shaft thunked into his throat a moment after he spasmed and started to fall, already dead. The cause was quickly apparent: behind him crouched a gangly kid wielding a pair of bloody daggers. Kestra stared, nonplussed. The kid – adult? – peered out from behind a completely incongruous hat and spoke rapidly.

"I'm Cole. I came to warn you. To help! People are coming to hurt you. You probably already know."

"What is this? The fuck is going on here?" She demanded. Everything was going to hell— she needed information, not more questions, damn it!

"The Templars come to kill you."

"Templars?!" Cullen had followed her outside, blade at the ready. "Is this the Order's response to our talks with the mages? Attacking blindly?" He advanced menacingly towards the strange kid, who ignored him and addressed his words to her instead. Because of course, she was the sodding Herald of sodding Andraste, obviously she was the right one to deal with the invading Templar army, and not, say, the ex-Templar general of the Inquisition's forces—

"The red Templars went to the Elder One. You know him? He knows you. You took his mages."

She went still, feeling sick. She knew that name far too well. The last time she heard it, she'd seen demons rip Cassandra to shreds and tear out Leliana's throat. Shit. Shit. Well, okay, maybe they weren't all dead, as long as he wasn't here—

"There."

Shit. Shiiiiiit.

Cullen said something. Kestra couldn't fathom how he wasn't gibbering in terror like her. Templars must be made of sterner stuff than smugglers.

"He's very angry that you took his mages." That was Cole again. Well wasn't that just fucking great. Kestra jerked around to look at the others who had gathered behind her. She was _not_ cut out for this.

"Cullen, give me a plan! Cassandra, someone, anything!"

"Haven is no fortress," the Commander replied bleakly. "If we are to withstand this monster we must control the battle. Get out there and hit that force! Use everything you can."

She gaped at his armored back as he turned to the hastily assembled squadrons of soldiers and mages. He was mad. Everyone was mad. They wanted her to charge headlong into battle against the most elite military organization in Thedas, led by some crazy inhuman monster who called himself a god. Well, that wasn't going to happen. She wouldn't do it. She wasn't a hero, she wasn't going to just throw her life away like that. As soon as she saw a chance, she'd run, go to ground, and wait out this storm. That was how a Carta smuggler survived.

But Cullen had turned back around, drawing the eyes of all the assembled troops her way. Kestra started guiltily. The Commander's blade stabbed the air as he finished his speech, voice carrying clearly through the din of battle.

"Inquisition! With the Herald! For your lives, for all of us!"

The army – _her_ army – charged with a roar. Kestra stood for a long moment, frozen. This was her chance. She could go now, slip away in the chaos and never look back...

_"I would lay down my life for you in a heartbeat,"_ Leliana had said, just after Redcliffe.

_"I knew the Herald would save us,"_ a soldier had whispered when she unlocked that cell in the Fallow Mire.

...No. She couldn't. She could not abandon these people now, not when they had such faith in her.

Kestra drew an arrow from her quiver and ran forward, shouting. Towards the enemy. The Elder One and his Templars would learn the consequences of messing with a Carta dwarf. Because she was going to teach them. Personally.


End file.
